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What did the warmth of the girl’s body mean to her? What was the reason for those arms around her torso? Why was it more than just “something,” but also “something else?”

Was it the action?

Or was it the girl?

In her head, records were being checked against one-another, searching for the most appropriate interpretation of the situation. Memories were filtered and sorted to reconcile every instance of the action and every aspect of the girl.

In the process, her personality switched.

She was not alone inside her head. Others existed that watched over her and made sure that she wouldn’t break again. The Protector bubbled to the surface, called in reaction to “arms” and “touching.”

The Protector analyzed the situation. Its body was laying on a comfortable bed in a dark room.

Bed.

Memories.

Mother. Love.

Men. Terror.

Girls. Death.

Murder. Blood.

Shamus. Care.

Dark Holy. Dark Holy…

The girl whose arms enwrapped her was familiar. Memories of childhood and memories of the past year. A five-year hole wherein she didn’t exist.

Who is Dark Holy?

Sister? Lover?

Killer?

No. I killed her.

Bed. Terror.

Floor. Blood.

Blood. Blood.

Blood. Blood.

Blood. Blood.

Blood. Blood.

Love.

Love?

Is that the answer?

If so, then what is love?

The Protector calmly examined the girl’s body.

A tiny frame.

So tiny.

So small.

And so warm.

The warmth radiated from her core. The warmth of her arms was more than the warmth of arms—it was a cable. It connected the girls together, attaching their cores, combining them into a single being. It was a warmth that could only be accessed by a special person. An invitation exclusive to a lover.

A lover.

The truth.

Love is warmth.

She understood warmth. Warmth couldn’t harm her.

The Protector receded.

But Scarlet Dream was not ready to come out.

The Observer emerged. Its job was to analyze any situation that she didn’t understand and determine the appropriate response.

Contrary to The Protector’s hard, fixed gaze, The Observer made the body’s eyes flicker madly around, collecting and constructing every detail of the surroundings.

Scarlet’s eyes fell on Dark’s face and didn’t budge. They enamored themselves with the surging, overwhelming love they felt for every particle of her being.

Dark’s face.

Just a few strands of silver hair falling about its frame. The glint of moonlight glowing on her soft cheek. A terrifying scar where her right eye had been five years ago. Her remaining eyelid, contrastingly smooth and beautiful, kissable like her soft lips.

Kissable.

Scarlet latched onto that word. It became a desire—the proponent of her love.

Kiss.

Her face was so close. Their bodies entwined.

Together.

One.

Connected.

She gently put her arms around Dark’s head, cradling it, closing out the world to center on the two of them. She couldn’t decide where to kiss first, so she followed the moonlight and pressed her lips to Dark’s cheek, then she brushed her own cheek against it. With a natural flow, she moved on to kiss the lips and the forehead. Taking great care, she kissed the closed eye. After every kiss, saliva gathered in her mouth, and taste began to demand the attention of touch. Her tongue freed itself and gently traced Dark’s jaw up to her ear, then started around the edge of the ear itself.

“You didn’t kiss the scar,” Dark suddenly murmured, barely awake. Scarlet moved her face back down and pressed her forehead against Dark’s, looking into the one eye that was slightly open on a smiling face.